


Man's Best Friend

by unquietspirit



Category: Fake News RPF, Pundit & Broadcast Journalist RPF (US), Real News RPF
Genre: Angst, Dogs, Gen, Pundit Round Table, What The Hell Olbermann
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:13:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unquietspirit/pseuds/unquietspirit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keith adopts a new friend and encounters four old ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man's Best Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by Sarken, who is awesomesauce.

The last question on the ASPCA's dog adopter survey says "It's most important to me that my dog ____________." Keith stares at the blank space, his pen hovering over the paper. "Keeps me company" seems too pathetic, even if Keith _is_ getting a dog because he's sick of his own. Besides, he's already circled "all the time" on the "when I'm at home, I want my dog to be by my side..." question. Finally, he writes "is friendly" and stands to give the form back to the receptionist.

The dog he leaves with certainly qualifies. He's a shepherd-lab mix, black and tan with floppy ears and a tail that seems to be permanently wagging. Keith changes his name from Johnny to Ace, though usually he just calls him "boy."

They go off-leash in Central Park more often than not, Ace playing with the other dogs running around or fetching the baseball Keith tosses for him. They're on the southeast corner of the Great Lawn one Saturday afternoon in October when Keith hears his name shouted. Simultaneously, he's hit about knee-high with two muddy paws.

"Cookie, down!"

Keith gently pushes the dog away and turns as Stephen comes jogging up behind him.

"Sorry," he says, wincing at the paw prints on Keith's jeans. "She recognized you and took off. I tried to warn you."

"They'll wash." Keith shrugs. Ace abandons the leaf he'd been sniffing in favor of Cookie, who bounces at the attention. "Play nice, boy," Keith says, and Stephen raises his eyebrows.

"He's yours?"

"As of a month ago."

Stephen smiles brightly. "That's great! What's his name?"

Keith tells him, and they stand watching the dogs play and catching up. It's easy -- talking to Stephen always is -- but when he glances at his watch and says, "Hey, we're meeting for dinner at Anderson's, if you want to join us?" Keith shakes his head.

"Thank you kindly, but I'd rather not impose."

For a few seconds, Stephen looks like he wants to protest. Then he sighs. "Well, it's up to you. I've gotta leave, but I'll call or email you later this week so you can tell me how that court date goes."

"With any luck, I'll give opposing counsel a migraine and get out of there early," Keith says.

" _You_ need luck for that?" Stephen asks, laughing, already two steps toward the path with Cookie following behind.

 

Their walks get shorter as winter closes in. With biting winds and darkness falling in the early evening, Keith takes him around the block at most. Ace drops his slobbery baseball at Keith's feet and looks at him hopefully at least five times a day. "I know, boy," Keith says. "I have cabin fever, too."

A front of slightly warmer air comes through in late December, finally giving them the opportunity to get back to the park. Keith stays close to the east side in the Dene, where he's not the only dog owner taking advantage of the weather. He recognizes a few other regulars and nods hello to them as Ace sniffs at their dogs.

Just when the cold starts making him think it's time to go home, someone else catches his eye. The guy is sitting on a bench reading from an iPad, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled over his head, with a baseball cap on under that, its bill shading his eyes. Keith frowns, trying to place him, before taking another look at the dog lying nearby and realizing. Still, he hesitates, not sure he's right without being able to really see his face.

As he watches, the guy pushes the baseball cap up to scratch at his forehead, giving Keith a clear view. His cheeks are flushed pink, the tip of his nose almost red, and Keith wonders how long he's been sitting out in the chilly air. It annoys him. He walks over with no idea of what he's going to say, but what comes out is, "You don't have a dog park closer to that ridiculous firehouse?"

Anderson jumps, looks up at him standing there, and blinks a few times before replying. "Hello to you, too, Keith. Long time, no see. Not that it's any of your business, but I brought her to work with me today for the talk show. And you've never even been inside my house, so how do you know it's ridiculous?"

"You kept the poles, Anderson. The jokes I could make--"

"I've heard them all. Made a few of them myself, too," Anderson interrupts, sounding bored.

"Yes, I noticed how that dam broke. You've been flooding the airwaves with your newfound openness."

Anderson stares at him. " _Seriously?_ You spend years telling me I should come out and now you want... I don't even _know_ what you want."

That makes two of us, Keith doesn't say. He sits down on the bench and snaps his fingers at Ace, who is taking too much interest in a trashcan. Once his attention is attracted, he trots over to smell Molly. The unimpressed look she gives him is remarkably similar to the one Anderson is directing at Keith. It's broken only when Ace moves on to Anderson, nosing at the iPad curiously. Anderson smiles and pulls it away. "No, that's not for you, sorry," he says, scratching behind the dog's right ear. "You're a good boy, though, yes you are."

"His name's Ace," Keith says.

"Yeah, Stephen told us," Anderson replies. He switches to the other ear and says, "You could've come to dinner, you know."

"I was busy."

"Right. Like you've been too busy to have lunch with us for months now."

There's another silence.

"I have to go," Keith says. Anderson starts to speak, but he cuts him off with, "You should wear a scarf if you're going to be out here for a while. It's not that warm. Ace, c'mon."

He doesn't look back to see if Anderson is watching him leave.

 

A blizzard hits in early February, dumping snow that quickly turns to muddy slush everywhere in the city except the parks. Keith puts on a hat, gloves, boots, and a heavy coat and trudges through it with Ace, thinking it might be fun to throw snowballs for him on Sheep Meadow. When he gets there, though, the lawn is covered with so many kids that he doesn't want to let him off his leash, for fear of him accidentally knocking one of them over. "It's Friday morning. Shouldn't they be in school?" he asks no one in particular.

A bundled-up father who is supervising two kids and two dogs building a snowman a few feet away says, "It was cancelled. Snow day."

Then they both notice who they're talking to and take an involuntary step away from each other.

"Jon," Keith says after a moment, nodding once.

"Keith," says Jon, returning the nod while giving the impression that he'd rather be rolling his eyes. He looks back at his kids as Maggie struggles to lift the snowman's head onto its shoulders. "Nate, help your sister."

Nate and Maggie have both grown at least half a foot since the last time Keith saw them. They're too absorbed in their snowman to notice him, and he doubts they'd remember him even if they did, but the two French bulldogs see Ace and run over to investigate.

"Smudge, Barkley, leave him alone," Jon says.

"It's fine. He's friendly."

Jon mutters something Keith can't catch and calls the dogs again. This time, they listen and go to sit by Jon's feet. He gives them each a pat.

Keith frowns, remembering. "I thought you had pit bulls."

"I did," Jon says, in a clipped way that doesn't invite further questioning.

"Oh." Keith watches Jon watch his kids for a few seconds. "I'm sorry," he says, and walks away to find somewhere less crowded before Jon can reply.

 

He hires a sitter for Ace when he goes to LA for a few days at the end of February, and is surprised at how much he misses him. Judging by Ace's enthusiastic greeting upon his return, the feeling is mutual. Keith decides then to bring him along on the spring training trip, despite having never traveled with a dog before.

To make up for the absence, he takes him to the grassy hill southwest of Conservatory Water and throws the baseball for most of the afternoon. It's too early in the year for the model boats that the pond is famous for, but it's still a good place to people-watch. Keith is doing just that when he sees her, walking by the water, hand in hand with Susan, and Poppy, off-leash, leading the way. He freezes.

Rachel is holding a hotdog in her free hand, alternating between taking bites of it and using it to gesture expressively as she talks. He can imagine her tone exactly, even though he can't hear what she's saying. Susan laughs at whatever it is and replies with something that makes Rachel smile.

As he watches, Ace returns with the ball and drops it in the grass next to him. When Keith doesn't pick it up to throw again, he quickly gets bored, looks around, and catches sight of Poppy. Keith lunges forward and grabs his collar before he can run down, then freezes again, hoping the movement doesn't attract Susan or Rachel's attention. Poppy stops to look at them, and Ace wags his tail hopefully while Keith wills the other dog to stay put. The moment seems to stretch forever.

Then Rachel holds out the last bite of her hotdog for Poppy, and he loses interest in them in favor of the food. Keith lets out the breath he'd been holding, but keeps his hand curled around Ace's collar until the group of three rounds a bend in the path and goes out of sight.

Ace whines in protest. "Sorry, boy," Keith says, letting go. He throws the baseball in the opposite direction from where Rachel disappeared and tries to figure out what the hell just happened.

**Author's Note:**

> Ace is made up, since we don't have any details on Keith's new(ish) dog. His name, of course, is a baseball reference. I don't know what happened to Monkey and Shamsky, Jon's pitt bulls, but I got the info about his French bulldogs from [here](http://thebark.com/content/dogs-daily-show-jon-stewart). I also took artistic license with the rules concerning when and where dogs are allowed off-leash in Central Park, so don't use this as a guide.


End file.
